Buch lesen: «Lone Star Heiress»
Rescuer Turned Husband?
Plucky Ivy Feagan is headed to Turnabout, Texas, to claim an inheritance, not a widower’s heart. That all changes when strapping schoolteacher Mitch Parker rescues her in the wilderness. Straightlaced Mitch has never met a woman like Ivy—beautiful, adventurous and good-hearted—but he already lost love once and doesn’t dare try again.
When Turnabout’s gossips target Mitch and Ivy’s friendship, he proposes to save her reputation. But Ivy doesn’t want to marry for honor, and she doesn’t need to marry for money. Ivy will only agree to a proposal made for love’s sake—but will Mitch make his heart part of the marriage offer?
Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…
“Oh, you have a tree swing!”
Ivy turned back to Mitch with a teasing grin. “It appears there’s a bit of playfulness in you after all.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but that swing was already there when I moved in.” He regretted the words as soon as he saw the disappointment flash across her face.
She fisted a hand on her hip, looking quite severe. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never once even sat in that swing.”
“Guilty.”
“Well, that’s downright wasteful.”
He waved a hand toward the swing. “Feel free.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present.” With a saucy smile she started across the lawn. Ivy set the swing in motion, soaring high and laughing aloud.
Mitch leaned against a porch support, crossing his arms and enjoying the view.
As he watched her it occurred to him that perhaps her presence in his once quiet household was going to change his life more than he’d considered.
But it was too late to go back now.
What troubled him more was that he didn’t want to.
WINNIE GRIGGS
is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country, who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming (who often wears the guise of a cattle rancher) is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for thirty-plus years. During that time they raised four proud-to-call-them-mine children and a too-numerous-to-count assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.
Winnie retired from her “day job” and now, in addition to her reading and writing, happily spends her time doing the things she loves best—spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets.
Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 14, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.
Lone Star Heiress
Winnie Griggs
MILLS & BOON
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He shall choose our inheritance for us.
—Psalms 47:4
To my awesome agent Michelle and my fabulous critique partners Connie and Amy, who all, at various points, helped me talk through some of the tough spots I encountered while writing this story. Thanks for your willingness to listen, offer terrific suggestions and most of all your belief in and enthusiasm for this story.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Extract
Chapter One
Texas
June 1896
“This doesn’t look good.”
Ivy gently set the hoof back down on the grassy road and patted the mule’s side. “No wonder you’re limping, Jubal—it ’pears like you’ve picked up a honey of a stone bruise.”
The mule turned around to nip at her, but she avoided him easily enough. Although Jubal might be ornery at times, he usually wasn’t mean. Unfortunately, these weren’t usual circumstances.
Maybe she shouldn’t have set such a demanding pace this past day and a half, but she’d hoped to make it to Turnabout in two days’ time. A woman traveling alone for this distance, even if she was dressed as a boy, was vulnerable to gossip and worse.
But it looked as if she was doomed to spend another night on the trail.
“Not that anyone’s gonna notice we’re late,” she told Jubal, “since no one is expecting us exactly. I’m just anxious to find out what the mysterious inheritance is that this Drum Mosley fellow is holding for me.”
Ivy gave the mule’s side another pat as he brayed out a complaint. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.” They were a day-and-a-half’s ride from home and headed in the opposite direction. It had been several hours since they’d seen signs of people or habitation, so she figured they’d be better off pressing forward. “Guess we’ll just have to get by as best we can.”
She turned to her other traveling companion, also of the four-legged variety. “Well, Rufus, I guess I’ll be walking the rest of the way alongside you.”
The dog barked in response and she rubbed his head, comforted by the feel of his shaggy coat and the trusting look in his eyes.
“Let’s hope we find a homestead with neighborly folks who won’t mind strangers bunking in their barn.” She straightened. “At least there’s lots of good foraging to be had this time of year.”
She took off her straw hat and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. It might be the first week in June, but the summer heat had already set in.
How far had they come since they’d started out at dawn yesterday? Other than a couple of short breaks, they’d only stopped when darkness made it unsafe to travel last night. They broke camp at daybreak this morning and she estimated it was getting on to four o’clock now. Surely they were getting close to Turnabout. Which meant it would be time to exchange her britches for a skirt soon.
She glanced down at Rufus. “Whatever this inheritance is, it sure better be worth all this trouble. ’Cause we could really use some good luck about now.”
She patted Jubal’s neck. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could return home with enough money to rebuild the barn and buy a new milk cow? That would sure make Nana Dovie’s life a lot easier.”
Grabbing the reins, Ivy looked the mule in the eye. “I know you’re hurting, but we need to make it a little farther before dark.”
She moved forward and lightly tugged. To her relief, Jubal decided to cooperate. She glanced down the narrow, deserted road as she absently swatted a horsefly away. They hadn’t seen so much as a fence post or wagon rut since before noon. Apparently this shortcut to Turnabout wasn’t well used. But surely they’d spot some sign of civilization soon.
Not one to enjoy long silences, Ivy shared her thoughts aloud. “It’s been a wearisome day and you two have been great companions. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. In fact, I have a special treat for each of you that I’ll hand out as soon as we stop for the night.”
She glanced at Rufus, padding along beside her. “It would be nice if you and I ended up with a barn or shed to sleep in tonight, don’t you think?”
Not that she minded camping out—that’s what they’d done last night and, other than fighting off some pesky mosquitoes, they’d managed just fine. But those gray clouds gathering overhead would likely bring rain before morning and she didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked.
But as Nana Dovie always said, worrying was like doubting God. If you truly believe He’s in charge, then you have to trust He’ll work everything out for the best.
Of course, it never hurt to let Him know what you’d like to have happen.
“Mind you, Lord,” she said respectfully, “I know we can use a bit of rain to settle the dust. It’s just that I’m not sure that sheet of canvas I brought along will keep out more than a spit and a drizzle, and I’d rather not have a mud bath. If You could help me find a dry place to sleep, it would be most welcome.”
She glanced over at the mule. “And please help Jubal heal quickly. Amen.”
Ivy smiled down at Rufus. “Now, whatever happens, we’ll know He has it in hand.”
An hour later, she frowned up at the overcast sky. The clouds had thickened like clabbered milk and the heavy air clung to her skin like a damp petticoat. And they still hadn’t come across any signs of civilization. Jubal’s limp was more pronounced now—she couldn’t in good conscience push him further today. She had to let the injured animal rest.
“Well, boys, as Nana Dovie says, when you don’t get the thing you prayed for, it don’t mean God ain’t listening. It just means the answer is either no or not now. So it looks like we’re going to spend another night under the stars. And this is as likely a spot as any.”
* * *
Mitch Parker sat comfortably in the saddle, soaking in the morning sunshine and peaceful surroundings, letting all the stress of the past few weeks dissolve away. It had rained most of last night, but the rhythmic pattering on the cozy cabin roof had added to the serenity.
And today had dawned bright and warm—perfect weather for the first full day of his vacation. The leaves on the trees had that special shine they always had after a rain and the only sounds were those of the birds and insects. He might even take out his sketch pad later.
School was out for the summer, giving him a welcome break from his teaching duties. But more than that, he was ready for a break from Hilda Swenson. The persistent widow and mother of three had made him the target of her attention for the past several weeks and seemed oblivious to his hints that he wasn’t interested. She was a flibbertigibbet of the highest order—something he had no patience for. And her determined pursuit was playing havoc with the quiet, well-ordered life he’d strived so hard to build for himself and was determined to maintain at all costs.
He never wanted to go back to what he’d once been. Nor did he want to be a husband again, not after the tragic outcome of his marriage.
His rebuffs of the widow’s overtures would obviously have to be more direct in the future—a confrontation he wasn’t looking forward to. Thus his decision to slip away to a friend’s cabin for a week or so.
Mitch shook off those thoughts. He’d deal with that unpleasantness when he returned to Turnabout. This week was for relaxing and regaining that all-important sense of control over his life.
And this back-of-beyond cabin had been just the place to do it. He was grateful to Reggie Barr for giving him the use of it. In a way, it was a homecoming. The cabin was where he’d spent his first night in this part of the world, two years ago. Reggie had been a stranger then, but had held his fate in her hands. Now he counted her and her husband, Adam, amongst his closest friends.
He’d made it to the cabin yesterday afternoon, in time to get some fishing in. Fishing, reading and sketching, and no people around. Yes, this was going to be a fine week indeed.
Just before he’d left town yesterday, Reggie had told him he could find some mulberry trees north of the cabin. So now he was heading that way, hoping to gather a generous amount of the fruit, and curious to explore a different section of the woods. Perhaps he’d find inspiration for some of the sketching he planned to do.
A bark echoed through the trees, catching Mitch’s attention. What would a dog be doing out here? It was a four-hour ride from Turnabout and as far as he knew, no one lived out this way. Then again, maybe someone had settled here recently. He grimaced at that thought. He hoped whoever it was wasn’t the gregarious type—he wasn’t in a sociable mood.
But he was getting ahead of himself. A dog didn’t necessarily mean there were people around. The animal could have wandered all this way on his own.
Mitch slowed Seeley, then pulled the horse to a stop. Maybe he should turn around and return to the cabin. If there were people up ahead, there was no sense in inviting an acquaintance. Perhaps if he refrained from intruding on them, they’d return the favor.
Then he reluctantly set Seeley in motion again. If he was going to have neighbors, it was best he meet them at a time of his own choosing rather than have them arrive on his doorstep when he wasn’t prepared. He could also drop a hint or two that he valued his privacy.
As Mitch neared the spot where the dog’s bark had come from, he heard a human voice as well, though he couldn’t make out the words. Well, that answered that—there were people out here.
He peered through the woods and spied a youth standing on a log, plucking mulberries from a tree. It appeared someone besides him had designs on the berries.
Mitch quickly scanned the surrounding area, looking for the other members of the lad’s party. There was a scruffy-looking dog and a mule, but no sign of either a homestead or other people.
The dog spotted him first and began barking furiously.
“Goodness, Rufus, what’s gotten into you? Is it another squirrel?” The youth turned to look and, as he caught sight of Mitch, his eyes widened and his foot slipped, losing its purchase on the log. His arms flailed as he attempted to catch his balance. The youth’s hat went flying and the appearance of a long untidy braid had Mitch quickly revising his initial impression.
A moment later, she was flat on her back on the ground.
And not moving.
Nightmare memories of another fallen woman whooshed through Mitch with the force of a flash flood. He vaulted from his horse, his heart pounding like a mad thing trying to escape his chest.
Not again. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to make him relive such a tragedy a second time.
Would He?
Chapter Two
In a matter of seconds, Mitch knelt beside the all-too-still form, checking for signs of life. When he saw the rise of her chest, his frenetic heartbeat slowed slightly. But he refocused immediately. He needed to find out just how badly she was hurt.
His breath caught for a moment as he spotted reddish stains on her shirt and hands. But a heartbeat later he realized they came from berries, not blood.
Why was she out here alone, and why was she dressed as a boy?
He shoved those thoughts aside—there would be time later for those questions, once he’d made certain she was okay.
It was his fault she’d fallen. He hadn’t intended to startle her, but that didn’t absolve him of the fact that he had. He of all people knew that actions often had unanticipated consequences. He also knew his imposing size could make strangers uncomfortable at the best of times. For a lone female who wasn’t expecting him—even one dressed as a boy—his arrival must have been a shock.
She stirred and he turned his attention to her face, only now taking in her physical appearance. Her nose and cheeks were dusted with a liberal sprinkling of freckles, giving her a youthful look. Her still-closed eyes were partially covered by a fringe of reddish-brown hair that had escaped her braid. He absently brushed the tendrils away from her face and was rewarded with a grimace and a soft moan, welcome signs that she was regaining consciousness.
“Easy,” he said, still uncertain of her condition.
She started at the sound of his voice, and her eyes flew open, regarding him with wide-eyed confusion and uncertainty. The deep clover-green of her irises startled him momentarily. They were the most amazingly intense eyes he’d ever seen.
“Are you hurt?” He kept his voice calm, trying not to further alarm her.
“I don’t... My head hurts, but I think I’m okay.”
She made as if to sit up, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently restraining her. “Easy now. Take a minute before you move around too much.”
She gave him a peevish frown. “I need to sit up—the ground’s wet.”
That’s what she was worried about? Probably still addled from the fall. “I understand, but let’s check you out first.”
The suspicion in her expression deepened, and she attempted to put more distance between them. “I can check my own self, thank you.”
Though her words were assertive, her tone was slurred and she seemed none too steady. He didn’t want to agitate her further, however, so he nodded.
“All right, but if you insist on sitting up, at least let me assist you.” He placed a hand at her elbow and helped her up, keeping close watch for signs of injuries or weakness. Once he was sure she wouldn’t fall over again, he eased back on his haunches, ignoring the dampness seeping through the knees of his pants, trying to maintain a nonthreatening pose.
As soon as he moved back, she pulled a knife from somewhere and had it unsteadily pointed at his chest. “If you’re thinking to rob me, mister, you should know I don’t have much worth stealing, but what’s mine is mine.”
The dog, alerted by her tone, stiffened and bared its teeth at him.
“Whoa, there.” Mitch threw his hands up, palms out, trying to assure her he wasn’t a threat. The knife, while not especially large, looked sharp enough to do some damage. And although he was quite certain he could take it from her with little effort, he didn’t want to do that unless he had to. “I just want to make certain you’re okay, nothing more.” She placed her free hand on the dog’s back, but he had no illusions she was restraining him.
“I’m talking about before that. Why were you sneaking up on me that way?”
“I didn’t sneak up on you. I happened on you while looking for the mulberry trees. My apologies if you were startled.”
She blinked those amazing eyes as if trying to clear her vision, and the trembling in her hand grew more pronounced. Was it due to pain? Or weakness?
“Are these trees on your place?” she asked. “’Cause I didn’t mean to trespass.”
Trespassing should be the least of her worries right now. He didn’t like the slur that had crept into her voice. Time to be firm, for her own good. “We can discuss all that later. Right now I need to know if you’re badly hurt.”
She still didn’t lower the knife, though the effort seemed to cost her. But her left hand moved from the dog to the back of her head. “I... My head—” She pulled her hand back and stared at it as if it belonged to someone else.
It was stained with blood.
Mitch bit off an oath. “You are hurt. Let me have a look.” He moved in closer, and she quickly raised the knife to block him, swaying slightly with the effort. Her dog let out a warning growl.
This girl had more spunk than sense. “I’m only trying to take a look at your injury—that’s all. You’re bleeding and it’s not something you can tend to yourself.”
Without a word, she nodded, her gaze never leaving his face.
Keeping his moves slow and smooth, he shifted to get a better look, ignoring the knife that unsteadily tracked his movements. A patch of blood on the back of her head stained her hair, matting it against her scalp. The wet, muddy ground she’d been lying on hadn’t helped matters any, either. He tried gently parting the hair but couldn’t see much beyond the blood.
He moved to face her again, and realized she’d closed her eyes. Had his ministrations hurt her?
But a moment later her eyes opened with obvious effort and her gaze held a question.
“I’m going to get my canteen so I can clean this up and get a better look. Try not to move.”
She nodded wearily, then winced. “There’s a shallow creek just beyond those trees.” Her voice sounded strained and pain shadowed her expression.
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers that she’d be all right until he returned, then sprinted back to Seeley.
Snatching up his canteen and the small cloth bag he’d intended to put the berries in, he quickly headed back, only detouring once when he saw her own canteen amongst her things.
Mitch pulled out his handkerchief as he knelt beside her again. Her hand was back on the dog’s neck, but now she seemed to be using it for support rather than restraint. Not a good sign. Still, her stoicism and ability to keep her wits under the circumstances was commendable.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said as he wet the cloth.
She tried to raise the knife again. With a sigh, he wrested it from her in one quick move, then set it carefully out of her reach.
He regretted the spark of fear he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry—” he kept his tone matter-of-fact “—but I can’t have you hurting either yourself or me while I’m focused on fixing you up.”
She watched his every move, and he saw the caution and uncertainty she was trying to hold at bay.
“I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, hoping to distract her. “Mitch Parker, at your service.”
“Ivy Feagan.” She offered her name reluctantly, then he heard a quick intake of breath as he dabbed at the cut. She indicated the dog. “This here is Rufus.” Her voice had a note of challenge in it.
Good. He preferred bravado to fear. “Glad to meet you. By the way, did you get to sample those mulberries before I interrupted you? I hear they’re exceptional.”
She answered affirmatively, then fell silent again. There were no indications she was hurting, other than an occasional hitch in her breathing when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. When that happened, she’d start talking, mostly rambling thoughts, as if to hide her reaction.
Despite her unfocused chatter, he found himself admiring her. She didn’t complain, or dissolve into hysterics or cower—all of which would have been understandable reactions given the situation. Instead, she maintained a stoic demeanor. He’d known men who would have acted with less restraint in these circumstances.
It took all the water in his canteen, but he finally had the area clean enough to see the cut. It was a nasty-looking gash, but the bleeding had almost stopped.
He rinsed his now-soiled handkerchief, then squeezed out as much water as he could. He folded it into a thick pad, then gently covered the injury. “Do you think you can hold this in place for a few moments?”
She obediently placed a hand over the pad. He picked up the cloth bag, quickly removed the drawstring and held it up to show her. “I’m going to use this to tie the bandage in place. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He secured the pad, then leaned back to study his work. With the ties dangling over her left ear, she would have looked comical if the situation weren’t so serious.
“That will have to do for now.” He met her gaze and frowned. He didn’t like the paleness of her skin. Her freckles stood out in stark relief, her eyes looked huge and the rest of her face had a pinched look. And he could tell she was struggling to stay focused. What should he do now?
“How bad is it?” Her wariness was still evident, but he thought he also sensed the beginnings of trust.
He chose his words carefully—he didn’t want to alarm her unduly. “You’ve lost some blood. I imagine you’re going to have a whopper of a headache for the next several days, but I’ve seen worse.” Much worse. “But right now we need to see about getting you someplace where you can rest and be tended to properly.” He strived to keep the worry from his tone. “Do you have friends nearby or a place I can take you around here?” Please let her say yes.
“No.” Her single-word answer offered no clue as to why she was out here on her own. And that disconcerting wariness was back in full force. He couldn’t really blame her for her caution—in fact he rather admired her for it. But she shouldn’t have been placed in the position of fending for herself this way.
He tried again. “Is anyone traveling with you?”
“Only Rufus and Jubal.”
Rufus was the dog, but who was Jubal? “Do you know where Jubal is?”
“Jubal is my mule—” Her face suddenly drained of any remaining color and her eyes fluttered closed.
Mitch managed to catch her before her head hit the ground again.
He quickly assured himself she was still breathing, and to his relief, her eyes fluttered open. As soon as she realized her position, she struggled to push him away. “What—”
He reached for her canteen and held it up to her. “You fainted. Here, drink this.”
She quieted and took the canteen, raising it to her lips. Her gaze never left his.
After a few sips, she handed the canteen back, but he shook his head. “You need to drink it all,” he said firmly.
She stiffened at his tone, but after a heartbeat obediently drained the canteen.
What in the world was he going to do with her?
If he had a wagon, he’d transport her directly to Turnabout and hand her over to Doc Pratt. But there was no wagon, and in her current condition, she’d never be able to sit in the saddle for the four-hour ride to town. Even if she could, she probably shouldn’t.
That left him with only one option. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to temporarily abandon his plans for solitude. “I suppose you’d better come with me to my cabin, where you can rest until you’re feeling better.” He only hoped she could sit in the saddle long enough to get that far.
“Thank you,” she said, her suspicion obvious, “but that’s not necessary. Once I rest a bit I’ll be able to get on with my journey.”
He knew bluster when he heard it. But he tried to navigate around her caution carefully. “Nevertheless, I’m responsible for your fall and the least I can do is share my shelter and my food with you.”
She appeared to be wavering. Hoping to tip the scale in his favor, Mitch retrieved her knife.
She tensed as apprehension flared in her eyes.
He quickly held the knife out to her, hilt first. “You can hold on to this if it makes you more comfortable.”
He only hoped she didn’t decide to skewer him with it.
* * *
Ivy accepted the knife, wondering just how much she could trust this stranger. His size was certainly worrisome—he wasn’t just taller than Goliath. He also had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen.
Still, he’d been nothing but kind and helpful. Surely if he’d meant to harm her he’d have done so by now. And despite what she’d said, her inability to stop shaking or keep her thoughts focused was worrisome. Perhaps a hot meal and a dry place to rest would cure that. “I suppose I can rest at your cabin as well as I can here. But just for a little while.”
He smiled approvingly and she decided he looked much less intimidating when he smiled. In fact, you might say he looked downright handsome, in a bigger-than-life kind of way. It was mighty tempting to let go of her worries and let this man handle them. And right now she was having trouble remembering why she shouldn’t.
“Good.” He nodded to his left. “I’d like to move you to that tree over there so you have something to lean against while I gather your things.”
Move her? She wasn’t sure she could stand and make it more than a couple of steps right now, even if he helped her.
But before she could respond, he gave her a stern look. “You appear none too steady and I wouldn’t want to have to deal with you falling again.”
She could see where he might feel that way, and to be honest, he had good reason. But she had a better idea. “I’ll just lean against Rufus instead.” She gingerly rearranged herself to demonstrate. And loyal Rufus allowed her to prop herself against him, just as she’d known he would.
She wished he would just get on with gathering her things so she could close her eyes and relax for a minute or two. But she had the nagging feeling she’d forgotten something important.
He studied her a moment, then stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way.”
As soon as he turned away, she closed her eyes. Then she suddenly remembered what it was she needed to tell him and her heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly. “Mr. Parker.”
He turned and took a step back toward her. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
“It’s about Jubal. You should know, he turned up lame yesterday. It’s why we’re camped here.” She hoped he’d show Jubal the same kindness he’d shown her.
His expression tightened, but he nodded and continued on his way.
Ivy watched as he made quick work of collecting her few items. For a big man, he moved with surprising grace.
She closed her eyes again. Sometime later she heard Mr. Parker talking, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. His tone was soothing and a bit distant.
Prying her eyes open, she watched him approach Jubal. The mule eyed him suspiciously, ears flicking forward. Gradually, though, the animal relaxed, and by the time Mr. Parker attempted to stroke his nose, Jubal seemed ready to eat from his hand.
Satisfied, Ivy let her lids fall shut again.
“Miss Feagan.”
The voice seemed much closer this time and when she opened her eyes he stood over her, a worried look on his face. His horse stood just behind him.
“I’m okay,” she assured him. “Just resting my eyes.”
If anything, the concern in his expression deepened. “This is Seeley. He’s a well-behaved horse with an easy gait. I know you’re probably not feeling up to a ride, but the cabin isn’t far and I don’t know of any better way to get you there.”
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